


Rings of Saturn

by CoffeeQuill



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Autism Spectrum, CEO Omera, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Found Family, Human Grogu | Baby Yoda, Mandomera, Marriage Proposal, Relationship Discussions, Secretary Din Djarin, Sign Language, Single Parents, Slice of Life, Stay At Home Dads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29090958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeQuill/pseuds/CoffeeQuill
Summary: Din stood with the boy on his hip and stepped in to kiss her again. Omera gave one happily, cupping his cheek, then pressing another kiss to Grogu’s temple.“Love you,” both mumbled, and they smiled at each other. Din turned and walked out of the office, shutting the door behind himself, and Omera leaned back to watch until the door clicked. With a sigh, she swiveled back towards her laptop and shut her eyes, already missing them.--Din has been Omera's executive assistant for a while, slowly moving from a professional relationship to knitting their families together. After deciding to become a stay at home dad to spend more time with Grogu, his focus instead shifts to navigating their relationship in a more permanent way.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda, Din Djarin/Omera, Grogu | Baby Yoda & Omera
Comments: 35
Kudos: 68





	Rings of Saturn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gwen_Katana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwen_Katana/gifts), [Azertyrobaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azertyrobaz/gifts).



> Inspiration by conversation with friends on our [Mandomera discord](https://discord.gg/CHcbS6W4zM) server. CEO!Omera and Secretary!Din - I'm a sucker for it. Also didn't intend on writing Grogu as my own autistic child self, but the sensory issues and use of sign language just... worked itself in, in lieu of trauma and Force sensitivity.
> 
> I'd like to expand this into a larger fic at some point, but for now, I had to get my thoughts out in a oneshot.
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> Inspiration: ["Saturn" by Sleeping At Last](https://open.spotify.com/track/0x7wyuyFBbS6ZA9XTcoUPi?si=MnDErfuRR5WVDVltSFWnPA)
> 
> My [Discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> My [Tumblr](https://coffeequill.tumblr.com/)  
> My [Twitter](https://twitter.com/coffee_quill)

Today was dragging on long. Three meetings in a row, each running on time but still for _far too long_ — her brain felt fried and her patience thin. With a groan, Omera finally slumped back into her chair, stretching her legs out beneath the desk. _Relief._ She’d been on her feet to get between each meeting, moving fast to be on time, and yet now things were quiet. She turned to look out the window wall of her office where the snowflakes fell beyond and she let out a sigh before sitting up. She turned and reached down to the small fridge placed against the wall — lunchtime had felt days away, and while future meetings loomed, she’d have a moment to herself at last.

A large Greek salad with chicken she’d bought on the way into work. She was salivating at just the _thought_ of devouring it. She pulled it out and turned again to settle the plastic bowl on her desk, reaching into her drawer for a plastic fork, when there was a knock on her door and her head snapped to look over. “Come in,” she said, forcing a smile.

Lila Harrier from across the hall walked in and it took all of Omera’s willpower to keep a smile on her face.

“Omera,” Lila greeted. Her eyes fell down towards Omera’s hands, eyes hawkish and far too _curious,_ as she opened the salad. Omera gave her a nod as she pried the plastic lid off. She dropped the lid into the trashcan beneath her desk and offered another smile. “Sorry to barge in. I just… wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Just fine,” Omera said. “Thank you.”

Lila’s eyes shifted towards the desk, scanning along the picture frames and their contents. Omera took the first bite of her salad, desperately hoping that somehow the woman would take the hint and leave her in peace to eat. It truly _was_ as delicious as she’d anticipated it being. But Lila seemed far too content to stand there in silence, despite the clear awkwardness, as she analyzed the roomy office space and then Omera herself.

“Can I help you with something?” Omera asked.

“How has _Matthew_ been?” Lila smiled brighter.

_Of course._

“He’s fine,” Omera said, and she slid her laptop out of her bag to settle on the desk, her lunch pushed to the side. Might as well seem as though she’s working, though it would surely do her no good in getting rid of Lila. She powered it up and the background of Winta’s school picture appeared. Just one of her favorite pictures, despite her daughter’s grumbling objections. “A few missteps and misfilings, but he’s new and learning. We’re smoothing out the bumps.”

“Must be strange,” Lila said. “You’re used to such _wonderful_ secretarial work.”

Omera just smiled again and nodded. “It’s an adjustment.”

In her pocket, her phone began to ring, and Omera fished it out to look at the screen. She smiled at the name that popped up — Din Djarin — and the picture beneath of said man asleep on a couch with a baby boy wrapped up in his arms, hair a mess and drooling as the sun shone on their faces.

“Sorry,” Omera said, expression twisting as though she were truly sorry. “I have to take this.”

Lila looked somewhat disappointed, but it only lasted a brief second before replaced with the usual cheer. “Talk to you later, then!” she said and turned to walk out. Omera watched, and as the door shut she finally answered the call with a true smile, leaning back in her chair.

“Hi.”

 _“Hi,”_ came the voice on the other side. Din’s voice held its usual rasp, though it was nearly whited out by the sound of wind. _“Got a minute?”_

“Lunch break.” She set the phone to speaker and placed it down by her laptop, turning in her seat to watch the snowfall. “Where are you?”

_“We’re outside — lunch break long enough to say hi?”_

She could hear a baby whimper on the other side and she was sure Grogu didn’t like the wind _or_ the cold. There were car horns in the background and she bit her lip. “I _suppose_ I could fit you in,” she said. “Might have to ask my _secretary_ if I’ve got the time block…”

 _“Ha ha,”_ Din said, _“you’re a comedian.”_

She chuckled. “Come up. Maybe be quiet. The vultures are around.”

Din laughed, too, a soft and breathy sound that could never sound as good over the phone as it was in real life. _“See you in a minute,”_ he said. _“Bye.”_

“Bye.”

They didn’t take long. She managed to get a few good bites of her salad in before footsteps approached her door and it opened, Din stepping through with a smile. “Hey,” he said, quick to shut it behind him. He was covered in snow, brushing it off his shoulders but missing his hair, instead wiping snow off the little boy on his hip. Grogu’s cheeks were round and red with the cold, face scrunched up in the discomfort of being cold, looking at Omera as though pleading for help despite being bundled up.

“Oh, sweetheart.” She toed off her heels and got up, walking around her desk. She held her arms out and Grogu reached for her, transferring over from Din. The boy whimpered and buried his cold face into her neck, drawing the softest _hiss_ from her as she rubbed his back. “Did Dada make you come all the way out here in the cold?”

“He _wanted_ to come see you,” Din said.

“Did you?” Omera smiled at Grogu, who peeked up at her with the stunning brown eyes she adored. “I’m glad you did.”

Grogu snuggled into place and she stepped up to Din. He was just as bundled up, now unzipping his jacket, and she set a hand on his chest before pushing up into a kiss. Din smiled and returned the kiss, slowly drawing her against him, and the _relief_ of getting to have him during the workday again…

“How are things?” she asked as they parted.

“Boring,” Din said. He pulled his jacket off and held it over one arm, his other hand settling on his belt. “But we had nap time. Snacks. Played a bit. We’ll get lunch when we pick Winta up from school.”

 _“Snacks_ after school,” Omera said, adjusting Grogu on her hip. She crouched down and set him on the floor, working his coat off. “It’ll spoil her appetite for dinner if she eats that late.”

“Fine. Snacks, then.”

Though he’d been to the office several times, Grogu wasn’t quite sure what to do when not directly addressed. Omera turned and walked back around her desk, earning her a distressed gasp and whimper. He began to toddle after her. “Ma... Mama!” he said.

Omera stopped. The sound of the name bloomed warmth in her chest and she turned to kneel down, arms held out. “What is it, sweetheart?” she said, and Grogu crashed into her arms with a clinginess like he couldn’t bear to part from her. The name ‘Mama’ was new from his mouth, only said a few times so far, and she could see Din’s smile. No doubt Grogu had picked it up from Winta, much more impressionable since they’d all moved into one apartment, and she was sure Din had been encouraging it since the word was first uttered at dinner.

“Mama,” he whimpered.

Omera smiled and lifted him up into her arms, sitting back into her chair with him in her lap. She pressed a kiss to his messy curls and took another bite of salad. “How are things here?” Din asked, coming to half-sit, half-lean on her desk. It was familiar from the days of their early flirting, when her more than handsome secretary had insisted on coming into her office to ask a _question,_ with incredible shyness, that turned into an hour-long conversation about anything but work. “We’re not the office entertainment anymore.”

Omera chuckled. “Your call saved me from Lila, actually,” she said. “I’m sure they’ve all been abuzz since you left. She came in, looking for a ring like they always do. And since I took the picture with you down, they keep looking for it. Asking how I _am.”_

“You took the picture down?” Din said, frowning. His eyes darted towards the other end of the desk where their picture usually sat in a frame — a candid that Peli had managed to snap at a birthday party, both wearing the stupid birthday hats and faces red with alcohol and grins as he kissed her cheek. Just another favorite that Omera adored looking at, though the only one of Din on the desk. They each had their own frame and she wasn’t one for clutter.

“It was just in the way,” Omera said quickly with a smile, reaching out to grab his hand. “I put it in the drawer so boxes could go there. But they keep _looking_ for it, so it’s… been a bit fun to play around with. I’m sure some of them are desperately hoping we’ve broken up so they can swipe you.”

Din rolled his eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair to brush it back — a simple thing that was unfairly attractive — but then his eyes shifted toward the hand that held Grogu in her lap and his expression slowly fell. “Do you _want_ a ring?” he asked, quiet.

“I — no,” Omera said quickly. “Well — you know what I mean. We don’t _need_ it. Unless you want to go down that path.”

Din frowned, running his thumb over Omera’s, quiet in his contemplative thought. Omera could imagine what he was thinking. Neither were really ones for marriage. Omera had gone through it once, and Din had spent a lifetime believing he would never have the chance. As two single parents, they’d happily been knitting their families into one, never thinking they _had_ to go beyond the titles of ‘girlfriend’ and ‘boyfriend’. As in love as they were, they were still realists, and the prospect of a possible divorce when they were so entangled with the kids…

“We could be engaged,” he said. “Just… leave it on the table. Have rings. People can be engaged for a long time, right?”

“We can be engaged for as long as we want,” Omera said with a smile. “It could be nice. So others stop asking. Though, I think someone like Peli would start nagging for an actual date.”

“The date is _never,”_ Din said with a chuckle. But he seemed to realize how that could sound and the smile dropped with a touch of panic. “I mean — if you wanted to. Get married. I would. Absolutely.”

Omera smiled. God, he was _adorable._ She tugged on his arm and leaned in, and he met her halfway for a kiss. “Don’t start stressing about it,” she murmured. “We don’t need rings. I’d wear one, but I can’t love you any more than I already do.”

Din smiled and kissed her again. As he pulled away, standing up, Omera took another bite of the salad. Grogu cooed and reached up for it, whining when he wasn’t allowed the bite, and Omera just smiled before giving him a gentle squeeze as she swallowed. “Maybe Dada should get you lunch now, and you can have something with Winta later, too.”

“Think that’s Mama kicking us out, now.” Din walked around and took Grogu back into his own arms. The kid whined and squirmed, but as Din set him down and worked his coat back on, he reluctantly went still. Din kissed his cheek and tugged on his own jacket before zipping them both up. “We’ll let you eat.”

“See you at home,” Omera said with a smile.

“See you.” Din stood with the boy on his hip and stepped in to kiss her again. Omera gave one happily, cupping his cheek, then pressing another kiss to Grogu’s temple.

“Love you,” both mumbled, and they smiled at each other. Din turned and walked out of the office, shutting the door behind himself, and Omera leaned back to watch until the door clicked. With a sigh, she swiveled back towards her laptop and shut her eyes, already missing them.

“Mamaaa,” Grogu whimpered.

“Hush, buddy. We’ll see her later.”

Din cradled him as they walked down the hall. Already, his thoughts were whirring; _engagement rings._ No, they had never been a thought in his head, at least not since the days of them first turning to a serious relationship, when he’d stressed over the potential of marriage becoming a _requirement_ to keep Omera, and Winta, in his life. In the military, it was common for young enlistees to marry their high school sweethearts for the benefits. Din hadn’t had that. He knew others who married girlfriends or boyfriends over threats of leaving otherwise.

He’d known only relief when Omera, as a widow, had smiled and kissed him and said she’d done the marriage thing before and was happy with him regardless.

As they approached the elevators, the office door at the end of the hall opened and from it came Boba Fett. He had a jacket and hat on, briefcase in hand, with the same tired expression Din had always known him to have. He shut the door behind himself and Grogu squirmed in Din’s arms, cooing with recognition.

Fett looked up and had the slightest smile at the sight of the kid, giving Din a nod. Din returned it, looking down at Grogu. “Who’s that?” he asked, and Grogu looked up at him. Din gestured towards Fett. “You know who that is.”

“Bo!” Grogu said before hiding his face in Din’s shoulder, peeking out.

“Good,” Din said with a smile as Fett walked over. He rubbed Grogu’s back, glad when the kid could voice the simpler connections — recognizing Fett and naming him, when he didn’t see him so often, felt positive for a child late to speaking. “Say hi?”

Grogu hesitated, but he lifted his hand to his brow in a salute and moved it forward. Fett smiled and returned the gesture. _Hello._ It had been a while since they had to use signs, when Din, Omera and Winta had been good at understanding what the kid wanted or the words came along. They’d need to try and socialize more to use them. 

“Visiting?” Fett asked as the doors opened and they both stepped on.

“Yes,” Din said. “You’re leaving?”

“Getting drinks with Shand,” Fett said.

Din looked at him, then down at his watch. Grogu snuggled in against him and patted at the watchface. “It’s barely one,” he said.

“And? You can come.”

As much as he knew it was _good_ for Fett to actually _invite_ him somewhere, Din just stared at him instead. “You see the kid I’m holding?”

“If he’s quiet.”

Din rolled his eyes as Fett chuckled and adjusted Grogu in his arms. “Have to pick up Winta, anyway.”

“How’s the stay at home dad thing going, then?”

“It’s good. Really good,” he said.

“Good for you, though I think you took away the office entertainment with your romance.”

Din chuckled. “Yeah, apparently they’re all waiting on concrete news of a breakup.” But his smile faded as he thought of the conversation they’d just had and he shifted his weight back and forth between his feet. “You don’t know anything about love or marriage.”

“I’m offended,” Fett said, “but that’s true.” The elevator _dinged_ and they stepped off at the ground floor. The lobby was busy at lunch hour as several employees returned from break.

“If you’re committed but she says she doesn’t _need_ an engagement ring,” Din muttered, “do you think that—“

“Djarin,” Fett sighed, “I don’t _know.”_

“Right.”

“Ahoy.”

They looked over at the voice and watched as Cobb Vanth walked over. He was just as bundled for the cold — black puffer jacket with the security company’s logo, gloves, red scarf. He had one hand shoved into his pocket and the other gripping a steaming cup of coffee, looking plenty cold as a man transplanted from some-fuck-where-in-the-middle-of-the-fucking-desert, Arizona and experiencing winter for the first time. He smiled at Din and Grogu, but eyes shifted to Fett and his jaw tightened.

“Hope you figure it out,” Fett muttered, looking back at Vanth with just as much dislike, before he stepped away.

Din watched Fett turned the other way and sighed — he _was_ friendly with the man when no one else but Fennec Shand seemed to be capable of such. He was frustratingly aloof. Din was happy for the company of another Mandalorian, but Fett didn’t seem to care much for it. And he certainly didn’t seem to like Vanth, who returned the attitude, though Din had no idea why. 

“Figure out what?” Vanth asked. He smiled at Grogu. “Hey, little guy.” Grogu cooed, staring at him.

“Uh — stuff with Omera,” Din muttered.

“Everything okay? She said you left to stay home.”

“Yeah. It’s just, uh, coworkers gossip. Her not having a ring is… a thing to them. I asked her if I should get her one and she didn’t really answer.” He paused. “She didn’t answer at all.”

“Shit.” Vanth shrugged.

“She said it didn’t mean anything about how she loved me, and — we’re not really… marriage people, so it’d be engagement going nowhere, and…” Din sighed. “I don’t know if she expects or expect _not_ to get a ring now.”

Vanth grimaced. “Damned if you do, damned if you don’t,” he said. “I mean… I don’t know Omera that well yet. But I think if she says she’s neutral, she’s neutral. _You_ want rings?”

Din frowned. “... I don’t know.”

“Ain’t marrying, but—” Vanth sipped his coffee. “Man or woman’s got a ring on, means something to everyone _else._ Though you two have been fine so far without it.”

“Huh,” Din muttered beneath his breath. “Right.”

A harsh wind blew past and Vanth shivered, eyes squeezed shut against the cold, as Grogu let out a short wail. Din held him more snug and the security guard let out an annoyed huff. “Fuckin’ cold,” he muttered. “See ya.”

“Goodbye,” Din said. He watched Vanth disappear into the warmth of the building and took a breath, the simple words buried into his mind. No, rings weren’t really going to change anything about their relationship, likely not at all. They lived together, they were raising their kids together, that was enough. But now he thought of _other_ people, what they looked like from the outside.

He thought of the jealousy he felt when he left for the bathroom at bars and came back to Omera trying to be polite in rejecting the men who approached her, that _yes_ she had a boyfriend, refusing to back down until Din was there. Or his own irritation when he went out with Fett and wouldn’t be left alone, occasionally trapped by the one woman who saw no ring as free game until Fett growled at her to _go._

With that thought stewing in his mind, he turned and began towards the train.

Grogu buried deeper into his arms, hiding from the wind, until they came to the station and went down the steps. Din cradled him with one arm as he swiped them through and walked down the tunnel, the wind still blowing through with less gust. “Dada,” the kid whined, squirming, and Din crouched down to set him on his feet. “Win. _Win.”_

“Winta’s at school,” Din said. “We’ll see her in a few hours.”

Grogu stared up at him. The almost pained expression told Din that he’d translated the babble wrong and Din reached for his hands. “Sign?” he said. He lifted his own hand, making the signs himself. _GSL?_

The kid let out a frustrated noise instead, stamping his foot. “Win!” he said, and a harsh gust of wind came down into the tunnel. Grogu whimpered and shoved forward against Din. “Win, Dada, win!”

“Wind. Okay. It’s okay.” Din unzipped his jacket and drew Grogu closer against his body, zipping it back up around him. “... There. Better.”

The kid buried his head against Din’s chest and seemed content there. Din rubbed his back, and as their train arrived, scooped him up to board.

The transition from working every day as an executive assistant to becoming a stay at home dad had been… a difficult thing to decide on, at least within his own mind. He managed things for Omera and had enjoyed it — he liked organization, liked the business, took pride in making sure she had everything she needed. As they dated, he had taken teasing for being the one in the secretary position, but he’d loved it and never felt out of sorts.

But he’d gone to hell and back in the journey of adopting Grogu and while the job had been to support them — his first _legit_ job in his life — he didn’t need to now. Omera made plenty to keep them all comfortable. The long days of working without his child in sight had begun grating, and he’d wrestled with the idea of staying home. Giving up his job. Taking care of the kids. It wasn’t the _norm._

“Dada,” Grogu mumbled. But it was said with sleepiness now, the kid’s head tucked beneath his chin. He loved the bumps and sways of the train, and if Din were lucky, it would lull him to sleep. Din stroked his back and leaned against the seat.

Din wasn’t sure he could ever deserve Omera. When he’d finally felt settled on staying home and told her, she’d smiled and kissed him and been only supportive of it. “Grogu needs you,” she’d said with a smile, and Din had wondered if the feeling of love in his chest was enough to stop his heart.

With that, the question of the ring popped back into his mind again, and he let out a sigh.

“Din, the — the pot’s gonna go over.”

Winta’s urgent tone snapped Din from his thoughts and he whipped around, quick to turn down the heat on the stove. The water in the pasta pot was foaming and near spillage, quickly calming with a lesser flame, and Din let out a breath. “Thanks,” he said, turning back to the kitchen counter. Winta just smiled at him and turned back to her homework.

The TV was on in the background. Grogu sat on the rug in front of it, sucking on a pacifier as he played with his busy board, eyes glued to the screen as _Princess and the Frog_ played. He mashed his fingers against the attached calculator, and Din watched with a hint of smug satisfaction. _The hell does a baby want with a calculator?_ Fett had asked when Din showed him a picture of the board he’d put together himself. But Winta’s old and broken calculator seemed to be Grogu’s favorite part of the board.

“Dada!”

Din straightened up. _“Ad’ika.”_

“Mmk.”

Din frowned and stood to walk around. “What is it?”

“Mmk!”

“Take the pacifier out, buddy,” Din said. “Or — sign?” He lifted his hand. _GSL._

Grogu lifted his hand. He squeezed it into a fist, over and over, and Din nodded. “Milk,” he said. “Okay. Sure.” As he got up, starting back towards the kitchen, he let out another breath of relief. He’d been _trying_ to say ‘milk’, even if it was around a pacifier. He knew the word. That was good.

After pouring milk into a bottle, he stuck it in the microwave to warm up for a few seconds. As he took it out, the front door of the apartment opened, and Din and Winta both looked over. “Mama!” Winta shouted, hopping off her seat, and Grogu’s head popped up. Omera stepped through the door with a tired smile, lifting her messenger bag’s strap off her chest, just in time to get an armful of the girl.

“Hi, love.” She pressed a kiss to Winta’s forehead. “How was your day?”

“Good! Mrs. Lantan let me pick out an extra book at the library, since I always return them on time. And we’re going to have a math test on…”

Winta launched into the same spiel that Din had gotten and from across the room, they traded smiles. Din gave the bottle a shake and walked over to Grogu, who had gotten up and stood beside the couch with a hand on it. “Mama,” he mumbled, looking at Omera. He looked up at Din and reached up for the bottle. Din handed it to him, giving his hair a gentle scruff, before walking back to dinner.

As Winta went to her room to change, and Omera got her coat and shoes off, she walked over. Din poured out the water and pasta into the strainer at the sink and as he shook it out, Omera’s arms slipped around his waist. He smiled. “How was the rest of your day,” he murmured.

“Terrible,” Omera sighed. “Boring or annoying. You know.”

“I can imagine — shit!” Omera’s hands slipped beneath his worn-out t-shirt, one at the center of his chest and the other at his belly, and he gasped at the icy coldness. “A-Ah — really?”

“You’re warm,” Omera murmured with a small laugh, leaning her forehead into the back of Din’s shoulder. “And comfy.”

He sighed and turned. She let him go to finish the pasta.

Dinner was a calm affair. Winta was happy to spout off about her friends, who had done what and what boys had put themselves on their bad list for their behavior. Din half-fed himself, half-fed Grogu, who was decently dexterous with a fork but didn’t know how to do spaghetti, and listened. It wasn’t lost on him that one day, boys might not seem so terrible, or girls will seem different, and the inevitable heartbreak…

He shoveled more spaghetti into his mouth and tried to keep Grogu from throwing the noodles.

Din put Grogu to bed at eight. The boy grumbled and squirmed but as Din sat with him in the rocking chair in the dark, the motions calming, he fell asleep in no time. Din cradled him like the world depended on it and slowly made the transfer into his crib, laying the blanket over him.

“Night,” he murmured.

For a minute he stood in the nursery, just looking down at the kid, and he drew in a breath. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, leaning his hip into the crib and cursing himself softly as he pulled up Safari. _Engagement rings._ Before the search could load, he quickly retapped. _How much should engagement rings cost._

“Din?”

The door opened a crack and Omera looked in. She smiled at him. “He’s asleep?” she whispered. She’d changed into pajamas, all a light blue color, hair braided back.

“Yeah,” Din said. He shoved his phone into his pocket.

“Come on.”

She stepped in and reached for his hand. He let her take it, smiling as he was pulled out into the light, the door softly shut behind them. They walked to the living room where the electric fire was on and two glasses of wine sat on the coffee table. Omera tugged him along and Din let her, happy to collapse down onto the couch, and she sat beside him with the remote in hand.

“Movie?”

“Sure.”

“Preference?”

He shrugged. “No rom-coms,” he said.

Omera grumbled, leaning into him. “I need to convert you,” she muttered. She tapped down to the _romantic comedy_ genre and Din groaned. “This _long_ together and…”

“They’re so cheesy.”

“That’s what makes them great!” Omera took a sip of wine, then looked at Din with a grin. She stole a kiss and looked back to the TV, suddenly gasping as she hit play. “Oh. This one’s more tolerable for—”

Din slipped two fingers beneath her chin and brought her back to him, this time in a firmer kiss. She was tense with the surprise but it melted away in an instant, happy to take the kiss, and set the remote down to cup Din’s cheek. They kissed a second time and a third before they stopped, eyes opening, gazing at each other in silence. It was Friday night and they’d get to have her home the whole weekend. But with a pre-teen and toddler, knowing Grogu would wake them at 4 AM with cries until he could lay in bed with them, _now_ felt like their time.

They sipped wine again and kissed. Din downed the rest of his glass and set it aside before drawing Omera into his arms and she leaned into him, her hands warm now as they slipped beneath his shirt. The movie played in the background but neither could pay attention, wrapped up in each other with no thought for anything else. The apartment was warm, pajamas comfortable, and he turned over onto his back as he tugged her onto him. Omera grinned at him, half-laying on his chest, and ran her nails over the bare skin at his hip.

Din smiled back and took her other hand into his, interlacing their fingers. They shared another kiss and Din sighed. “You’re alright with him calling you his mom?” he asked in a quiet voice.

Omera looked at him and smiled, giving his hand a squeeze. “I love that he calls me that,” she murmured. “... You’re alright that Winta doesn’t call you ‘Dad’?”

“She’s called me by my name so long, ‘Dad’ would be strange,” Din said.

“It would be.” Omera took a deep breath and rested on his chest, eyes falling shut. He began to stroke his fingers through her hair, lightly to not mess with the braid, and his thoughts continued to whirl in a storm. He was far more stressed than he had any reason to be, he was sure. The importance of giving her a ring was being blown far out of proportion in his mind. Yet the anxiety of doing something wrong, of not being enough, crept into his consciousness.

“Tell me whether or not to get rings,” he said.

Omera’s head came back up and she looked at him, brows furrowed, before letting out a sigh. She pushed herself up and looked at him, sitting on one side of him and hand planted on his other. “Have you been worrying about this all day?” she asked.

Din bit the inside of his cheek, giving no answer. She knew him too well, now, and the answer was surely obvious. He’d worried over _everything_ in their relationship, only barely able to settle comfortable into domesticity now — stressing over what restaurants he picked for a date, what time to eat, when to pick her up for the date, if bringing something for Omera meant he should get something for Winta, too. How early he should introduce Grogu, if his clear trauma was something she’d be able to handle or if they’d have to end things there, where the boundaries were with Winta, what was overstepping?

“Do you want us to have rings?” she asked.

Din looked up at her, then darted his tongue out to wet his lips, giving himself a moment to think. He sighed. “I don’t like guys thinking they can flirt with you because you don’t have one,” he said in a quiet voice. He grimaced. “But that might just make me an asshole.”

Omera smiled. She settled her hand on his chest, fingers spread out, and hummed. “It doesn’t,” she said. “I don’t like when women do the same with you. You’re all mine.” She leaned down to kiss him and he set his hand on her hip, relaxing beneath it. “... I’d be happy to wear a ring.”

“Is that a yes?”

Omera sighed but her expression was loving and she reached up to run her fingers through his hair, slipping down to his jaw. “Nothing outrageously expensive,” she said. “I’m fine with a small and fake rock.”

Din smiled and tugged her into a kiss. Their lips moved together softly and she cupped his jaw before deepening it with more urgency. The movie was completely forgotten as his fingers pressed into her skin and they parted with breathlessness.

“Then,” Din said, eyes fixed on her lower lip before looking up. “I feel like I should at least propose.”

Omera’s brow furrowed. “You don’t have t—”

“Will you marry me never?”

She stared at him. Then she laughed and leaned her forehead into his, both grinning with the giddiness of children. “You idiot,” she said, with utter affection in her voice, “yes. I will marry you never.”

He sat up and kissed her again, now with more insistence, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. Her fingers dug into his hair, gentle in tugging at messy curls that were due for a cut, and the warmth in his chest didn’t just come from wine. They looked at each other for a moment, eyes locked and looking deep and Din drew in a breath as the mood _shifted_ with how she looked at him—

“Bed,” she muttered, and her lips were on his throat. Din didn’t hesitate to reach for the remote and turn the TV off, tossing it aside before slipping his hands beneath her thighs. He stood with her in his arms and she let out a soft laugh, throwing her arms around his shoulders, fingers dug into his hair. As he carried her to the bedroom, they passed the other doors quietly, relieved at the silence before they were in their own room.

Neither wanted to let the other out of their arms.

Din was only slightly wrong. It was 5 AM when he woke to the sound of their doorknob jingling, small whimpers on the other side, and he blinked blearily at the wall. “D… Dada,” Grogu cried.

Din squeezed his eyes shut but got up, slow to disentangle himself from Omera, and off the bed. He was cold in just pajama pants but opened the door. “C’mon,” he murmured, as eyes frightened from nightmares stared up at him, and he bent down to pick Grogu up. He shut the door again and returned to the bed.

He gripped his stuffed wolf toy by the paw and Din didn’t know how he managed to escape the crib. But he laid back in the bed, settling Grogu between him and Omera, and pulled up the comforter. Omera turned with a mumble, eyes opening just slightly, tired breath escaping. “Okay, sweetheart,” she said, setting her hand on Grogu's chest.

Grogu laid down, facing Din, two fingers shoved in his mouth. Din smoothed his hair down, then settled his hand on Omera’s arm. It all fell quiet.

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a  
> Ad'ika - little one/son/daughter
> 
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